


Shadow Boys Break All The Locks

by dedougal



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Frottage, Future Fic, M/M, Older Stiles, Time Travel, Younger Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-19
Updated: 2012-12-19
Packaged: 2017-11-21 15:09:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/599171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dedougal/pseuds/dedougal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles thought he'd left Beacon Hills behind him ten years ago.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shadow Boys Break All The Locks

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fuluoliang](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuluoliang/gifts).



> Fuluoliang made a comment over on Twitter about how there's never any Older Stiles/Younger Derek fic. And this happened. I wasn't intending it to be quite so angst-ridden. Title is sort of nicked from "Time" by Tom Waits.
> 
> Just to highlight: this story mentions past underage as well as present and whilst it is consensual, a character thinks of it in ways that may suggest an element of dubious consent, especially when contemplating the levels of power difference.

There was a certain inevitability that Stiles did not end up becoming a cop. He also did not end up being a fireman or a lawyer or really anything that he’d once claimed he wanted to be. Equally he was not a superhero nor a ballet dancer (that had been a totally valid phase). 

He ran a coffee shop for someone else and dabbled with magic on the side.

It wasn’t exactly glamorous.

But that was his life. Coffee shop, occasional supernatural spell casting session, catch up on TiVO. Feed the cat. Lock the door. Finish his book waiting for customers. Finish his book waiting for his life to begin again.

 

Ten years ago, Stiles very nearly almost became a superhero. But, in a twist of fate, his best friend did instead. And then his best friend became something else. And then they were no longer best friends. Step by step, everything Stiles had held firm and honest and true was stripped away until there was only him.

 

He wasn’t sure what the kid was doing on the floor of the stockroom but he shouldn’t be there. It was when the kid looked up, eyes flashing blue and then back to that indefinable color that Stiles hadn’t seen for almost ten years that he realized who the kid had to be. He still freaked out.

He’d only known this Derek in passing. Stiles had been a kid, in middle school, attending high school football matches with his dad and his mom and idolizing the star player. No one got past Derek Hale and Stiles went through a rather weird period where he wanted to be Derek Hale before it all got sorted out in his head and then there was the fire and he vanished and Lydia happened and that was history. But this Derek, still soft around the edges, was there in Stiles’s memories too. It wasn’t puppy fat. There was just something unfinished about him. His cheekbones weren’t razor sharp. He had no stubble. His hair fell in soft waves around his ears.

“Hey, mister. I’m sorry. I don’t-“ The kid – Derek – looked around, scared and a little worried and his chest started to heave.

“Derek, right?” That made him look at Stiles, mouth opening and closing. This Derek wasn’t the creepy but confident adult Stiles had the pleasure of being slammed into walls by. And then ignored by. This kid didn’t know anything about hunters or alpha packs or fucking mermaids or anything. Stiles felt his heart clench in his chest. “Let’s get you a drink.”

 

The boy was nearly lost in the overstuffed armchair Stiles pushed him into. His shift still had an hour to go, and then he was responsible for cashing up, closing the store for the night. He couldn’t really afford to call out, not this month. So he settled Derek in the chair, handed over a chai and watched him out of the corner of his eye.

There was something in the way he moved that stirred feelings Stiles was sure he’d long buried. Things to do with Derek’s mouth and eyes and his fucking hair and everything that he’d long since locked away in a box in his mind that he kept booby trapped and triple locked. He didn’t need all that Beacon Hills shit in his life. He had his pet, his apartment, his job.

And, when he finished up, he also apparently had a teenage version of Derek Hale.

 

Food was the first order of business after Derek had established the pecking order with Buster the cat. Stiles was too busy flicking through his contact list wondering who would be able to help and who would answer his call. His finger paused above the H section. 

He’d kept an active number for Derek for years, getting it second hand through Lydia and then through Allison. He hadn’t called. Part of him wanted to. Part of him always wanted to, if he was being perfectly honest.

Teenage Derek had a healthy appetite and worked his way steadily through half the menu from Panda Kingdom. Then, when he was sated and he’d stopped freaking out over Stiles’s gaming system (technology waited for no man. Sometimes Stiles forgot what life was like ten years ago), he finally answered Stiles’s questions.

 

Derek had been driving home from practice. There had been a light and he’d stopped the car and investigated. Then he’d found himself on the floor of the stockroom and “you came in, Mr Stiles.”

“Stiles is my first name. I’m…” Stiles wondered what he should say, then shrugged. “Stilinski. That’s my surname.”

“The sheriff in my town is called Stilinski. You related?” Derek wrapped his mouth around the straw in his soda and sucked. Stiles crossed his legs.

“Yeah.” That was safe. Admitting nothing. Especially not now when he was imagining teenage Derek’s mouth in all sorts of other inappropriate sucking scenarios. Shit. This wasn’t Stiles – this wasn’t him. He scrubbed his hands over his face, trying not to watch as the boy stretched his arms high above his head, revealing the soft cut of his abs. They weren’t like they’d been when Stiles had first known Derek, when they’d been as toned and hard as the rest of him.

Stiles berated himself. Derek was sixteen. He was the age Stiles had been when Derek had kissed him, jerked him off, taught him what sex was about, if not exactly what love was. Derek looked over, his nose twitching and a confused expression on his face. “You okay, Stiles?”

Nope. He was fucked. Really fucked.

 

Derek seemed to run out of energy all at once, going from inquisitive and heart-breakingly open and easy to read to nearly asleep in an instant. Stiles vaguely remembered feeling the same, once upon a time. Possibly a different lifetime. Stiles’s jaw ached in sympathy when Derek’s jaw stretched wide in a yawn.

“C’mon. You can have the bed.” Stiles resigned himself to the sofa. He’d slept on it often enough. It just wasn’t the most comfortable thing in the world. Derek looked up at him sleepily, eyes dark. Stiles had a flash of uncomfortable imagination again, of Derek kneeling before him and looking up at him like that just before sucking his cock down. Stiles turned away and stuck his glass in the kitchen sink. 

He heard Derek push up off the sofa and follow him through to the kitchen. When Stiles finally looked at him, Derek was hovering just inside the doorway, the wrappers from their meal in his hands. Stiles pointed to the garbage and pasted a smile on his face. Derek yawned again and stumbled a little as he followed Stiles through to the bathroom, a million miles away from the smooth, confident, arrogant bastard he’d always known.

Except… he’d known this Derek too. A little. Just enough.

There was a spare toothbrush, wrapped, in his cabinet and Stiles handed it over. He grabbed his own pajama pants and shirt while the kid was in the bathroom and shucked his own clothes before he could really think too much about it. He was kicking his clothes in the direction of the washing pile when Derek stumbled through, holding his jeans in his hands. Stiles closed his eyes, trying to take back the image of smooth thighs, muscled and lean. 

“Stiles? Is this okay?” Derek sounded so young and hesitant and innocent. Nothing like the growl and the spat “Get out, Stiles” which had been the last time he’d spoken to _his_ Derek.

“Yeah.” That came out low and breathy. Stiles flicked on the bedside light and slipped out of the room.

 

He was staring at the wall behind his TV when he heard Derek pad out of his bedroom a few hours later.

“Stiles? Can I…?” Derek was wringing the bottom of his t-shirt in his hands.

Stiles sat up. “I could have been asleep.” Derek was backlit by the light seeping through the drapes over the window and Stiles couldn’t see his face.

Then there was the hint of teeth, a grin. “I could tell you were awake. I mean, you know. About the whole…”

“Werewolf thing. Yeah.” Stiles adjusted so he was more comfortable. “What is it?”

“I was- I miss them. My family. I just wondered…” Derek sounded desperately young and another punch of inappropriate lust shot through Stiles. “Could you come and talk to me? Your bed is big enough, right?”

Stiles scrubbed his hands over his blankets for a moment. Derek was asking, really nicely, but still asking for him to come to bed with him. Other Derek had been less about the asking and more about the pushing and shoving, especially when they were both high from the adrenaline of escaping yet another probable deadly situation. He was a grown ass man. He could do this.

 

Teenage Derek curled into his side, hand sneaking under Stiles’s t-shirt.

“I can’t work out if you need to touch because of werewolfy reasons or if you’re being a tease,” Stiles ground out. His cock didn’t seem to care, stiffening to half-hardness just from the cool smoothness of Derek’s hand, which froze on his skin before becoming cocky, sliding up across Stiles’s belly. Stiles trapped it before it went any further and rolled over to look straight into Derek’s eyes. “We can’t.”

“I’m not that young. I can smell you want me.” Derek swallowed and Stiles fought with his conscience.

“People must want you all the time. You’re popular and hot and you’re athletic. High school must be heaven.” It hadn’t been for Stiles but that was nothing new.

Derek sighed, teenage all over again, any trace of the cool seducer gone. “They think I’m weird. And I can’t tell them about…”

“Your time of the month. Yeah.” Stiles lay back. He had the chance to do something here. If he…

So. Stiles was basically justifying giving in to Derek Hale, jailbait, so that Derek Hale, jailbait, did not let Kate Argent get under his skin when he was transported back to his own time and therefore Derek would never suffer the loss of the family he was missing already and wouldn’t become an emotionally constipated idiot. He wouldn’t become the most useless alpha in the world. Scott would never be bitten by a rampaging Peter because there would be no body in the woods. All Stiles had to do was roll over and let Derek take what he wanted. Again.

His damned traitor of a cock twitched.

In the end, Stiles didn’t need to roll over. He just didn’t need to say no. Derek crawled on top of him, lowered his mouth to Stiles and kissed him. There were less teeth involved than Stiles had remembered. He finally gave in, skimming his hands over Derek’s t-shirt before creeping underneath and stroking upwards, tracing the points of Derek’s vertebrae. Derek even smelled similar, wild and fresh underneath the remnants of the mint toothpaste. Stiles took control of the kiss, slowing it down, making it last for as long as he could.

Derek’s hands were everywhere – wrapping long fingers in his hair, on his neck, arms, shoulders. Then Derek raised up and shoved impatiently until Stiles’s pants were around his thighs. Derek let out a shuddering sigh into Stiles’s mouth as Stiles pushed down Derek’s boxers, grabbing the meat of his ass to pull him close, to build a rhythm. It had been too long for Stiles to remember when he’d last done this and he wasn’t going to last. It didn’t feel like Derek was either, given the way his hips were frantically shifting, rolling faster and harder. Derek was losing control, but his teeth didn’t come out to play and neither did his claws. Instead he kissed Stiles harder as he came, slick, wet and warm against the cut of Stiles’s hip. Stiles held him close until he finished, the thrusts made easier by Derek’s come. And that thought dragged Stiles’s orgasm out of him. 

They lay panting, Derek still sprawled across him, sticky and gross, until Stiles pushed at the boy to roll him off. Stiles pulled his shirt off, wiped his belly and Derek’s, ashamed and guilty. Derek patted at him, uncoordinated and half-asleep again.

“Don’t, Stiles. Was good.” His voice carried the hum of the truly happy. Stiles envied that simple, uncomplicated joy, the way that sex just felt good and didn’t hurt or hurt others or just be because the other person needed it and didn’t really want you. Derek curled against him again, warm and soft and nearly purring. _His_ Derek had never cuddled. Never held him close and gentle. Stiles was too old to cry over spilled milk anyway.

 

He woke to an empty bed. That was good. That meant Derek was home and happy and would hopefully stay away from blonde women who offered virginity losing and murder services. Stiles was still sticky, come dried on his skin. He should get up, shower, start his day. Instead he lay back and watched the pattern the drapes made on the ceiling.

A mug being placed on his nightstand made him sit up, shocked. Derek was there. Not Derek the teenager but Derek. The real Derek. Stiles had a wild moment of wondering what the hell was going on when memories that weren’t his and were and brought him right here made him feel like his head was going to explode. He was shaking when he could open his eyes again but the shudders were helped by the fact he was being held tight by Derek. This Derek had laugh lines at the corner of his eyes and a few grey streaks in his hair and even in his eyebrows. This Derek was everything the boy had promised to become.

 

The house had still burned. Some things were never destined to change. But Derek hadn’t left, hadn’t forced him out. It had taken time. Time that had made it something real and unbreakable.

 

“Thank you,” Stiles had said.

“Anytime,” Derek had replied, kissing him lightly on the brow. Then the kiss traveled, butterfly light, over his nose, his cheeks, his jaw, before landing, firm and true on his lips. “Anytime.”


End file.
